God of Grimdarkness
by Skepsis Forever
Summary: In the grim dark future, the fifth God is born. And it was about time.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: So... I'm surprised nobody used this idea as far as I know. If I'm wrong, please let me know, it'd be a pleasure to read where it'd go, though I have my own idea on what to do with this fifth God. I've seen of Machine (Dark) Gods and Ahriman attempting to be one, and obviously the Emperor dying and a new Eye opening, but not this, at least not taken seriously. Let me know if I'm doing it well enough.

* * *

At the end of the 41st Millennium, there was only stalemate. Though Abaddon's 13th Crusade threatened to undo all that Humanity had fought for for 10 millennia, though the races of the Galaxy were besieged by countless enemies on all sides and the laugh and the thirst of the Gods were quelled more and more, still it wasn't over. Still there was hope for humanity.

Still there was endless hate and unrealized potential for Abaddon.

He had tried just about anything. Xenos weapons from times forgotten by all but the oldest of _things_, rituals so foul even he couldn't stomach them sometimes, and so much more, all for the greater hate, for the greater revenge. Revenge against Horus by destroying Humanity as both the Emperor or Horus had imagined it or hoped for it. Hate for the Corpse Emperor who would deny him _while being a fucking dying corpse on life support for over 10,000 literally bloody years_. Hate even for the mocking of lesser daemons and of the Gods for his often half-failures.

But for all his hate and all that he had at his disposal, for all the literal Gods that were in his corner, there was one thing, one small thorn that grew and grew and grew in his side that kept stopping him. The grim determination of the uncorrupted. Even in this dark setting, that grimness, even that darkness, would protect them from his masters, even more than the faith in the Corpse Emperor. It let the Eldar continue their pitiful plan to build their own God, it let the Tau continue to fight for the Greater Good, even if not through hope, then through the same determination. It let even the mad gods of the materium, the C'tan, to continue their twisted existence even when they had been betrayed by their own kind and the servants they had given immortality to. It let the Necrons continue to wake and try to salvage their lost and unattainable rights of conquest. It let the Old Ones continue to live on the run in other Galaxies, continuing to breed new civilizations to keep the Great Spiral of their birth in chains should its inhabitants decide to cross its borders to spread the madness they had unwittingly unleashed, even if it seemed hopeless. But worst of all, it let Humanity survive for over 100 centuries. When. It. Should. Not. Have. Done. So.

And then Abaddon had an epiphany. Maybe his own twisted brain came to the conclusion, maybe Tzeetch or even a lower demon supplied this to him. Maybe any warped spawn would have arrived at the same conclusion with its two remaining neurons (if Tzeetch felt magnanimous with it) functioning closely enough to that if human ones.

What did Chaos do with those that stood in its way and couldn't win against them in a fair fight? It corrupted them. It turned their ideals against them, preferably towards Chaos. So what if the Corpse Emperor was unattainable? So what if this grimness sealed them from Chaos? So did the Omnissiah - and oh did Abaddon hate that Ghost of the Machine God - and Chaos had turned half the Mechanicus during the Great Rebellion, hadn't it?

With these thoughts in mind and already formulating heinous rituals and sacrifices in his mind, Abaddon set to work at once. He had waited enough as it was. He called his personal guard and best witches and made planetfall to the part of Cadia they were in (somewhat) control of. If he were anything but Chaos, he would have been warned by his retinue that such a trip on what appeared to be a whim was foolhardy at best and would get them all killed if Abaddon was not certain of the Gods' favour upon them and their endeavor. Of course, none did and his defiled Terminator walked with him in set grimness. The thought made Abaddon _smile_ in a long, long time and it was not a pretty sight for those that witnessed it.

* * *

Between the time he had the idea and when he made planetfall, the plan, the ideal, the future, the creation, the ritual, everything, had already fallen into place in Abaddon's mind. He didn't need to write down his thoughts, to disseminate them through their minions to worse, to _remind himself_ of anything, he was the chosen of the Dark Gods and most daemons feared him and answered his questions truthfully, for they knew if they tried to cross him, what their patrons could do to them in their worst nightmares didn't compare to what Abaddon could. He wasn't their chosen just for his military mind and hate, as great as it raged in him. He had more... refined tastes that impressed even self-proclaimed Gods.

They were uninterrupted as they started their foul work, only the light oranges of sporadic bombardments and the scary beauty of the Eye piercing the black shortly before dawn. As instructed, Abaddon searched the black thing through time and space, below them, and finally found it, thought it seemed... reluctant? Unwilling? Abaddon was surprised, surely such a being would be as eager to be birthed as Slaanesh was when he was barely seeing the power the Warp could give him. No matter, reluctance and the weakness of others had never stopped him in completing his task.

After agonizing minutes, both of the physical and the mental, for both him and his minions, finally, it was done. He heard it, loud and clear, as well as most of the beings in the Galaxy, the Tau included. A roar of anguish, of darkness, strangely devoid of madness, but with a grim prospect, a great legacy. Abaddon smiled for the second time in a few hours' time. A new God was born and the Imperium of the Corpse Emperor and Horus would fall to him.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Warhammer 4000 or the characters within the franchise, nor do I profit in any way from this story.


	2. Chapter 2

In 003M42, there was still hope. Of course, those who knew relatively well the machinations of the Warp killed it from their hearts, replacing it with the grimness of survival for the Imperium and the Emperor. Those fell first.

As the new God was born, Cadia fell first, and with it, all of the Cadians. The once battered world was now bathed in shadow and darkness, its steadfast inhabitants remaining resolute in front of the coming apocalypse. But no longer for the Emperor. Now they had someone, _something,_ that could understand them better than the Emperor. The Emperor and His lackeys had given them this drive to fight until now, but now, something greater emerged and none dared or _wanted_ to fight it even if they could.

Cadia became the first Daemon World of the God of Grimdarkness and the "meeting" center of a new Eye of Terror. But strangely enough to the observers after, it did not expand into Imperial territory further than the old one. Instead, it cannibalized Slaneesh's realm. The youngest of the Greater God screamed in anguish and impotent rage as its beautiful creation, its gift to Fulgrim's peacocks, was marred by all-consuming darkness, ever expanding on his former beautiful red-purple orb that had shined over, terrorized and mesmerized at the same time an entire Galaxy and that had been visible until so long from other galaxies, even distant ones, defying gravity, light dispersal theory and other physical laws to anyone who'd see it even across the Universe. This new Eye looked more like an all-compassing black hole, though it only ate light and not the creatures and ships in it, and its inhabitants watched the change mostly uncaring - they had seen worse and the ways of the Warp were always fickle and changing, as well as aliagences.

But the worst hit was indeed the Imperium. Around half of its already depleted forces had turned in the span of a Terran second. From the Guard to the Navy to the Space Marines, Inquisition and Ecclesiarchy, none were safe anymore. When analyzed later, it would be postulated that the reason those thought beyond reproach had turned and defected was not because their loyalty in the Emperor had been destroyed by the foul blackness from the Warp, but because they had not really believed in the Emperor as a man, a god or a savior, but in the _idea_ of merely holding the line and fighting against all odds for their survival and that of their families. It has been further speculated that even the belief in Humanity as a whole would have saved them from corruption. But alas, they were discovered way too late to not believe in any of that, but in an _idea_ and _ideal._ And oh were those so easily corruptible and mendable by Chaos.

The result of the second "exodus" were dire indeed. The first to fall, almost on the second of the birth of the entity (presumable either at the same time or milliseconds after the Cadians), were all the gene-sons of Dorn. There was not one exception from the dour Astartes as, from Chapter Master to lowly scout and even chapter serf decided on a direct way to the new Daemon World from whatever assignment they were sent to or any engagement they were into. It is said that the Black Templars were the most ardent of these new recruits from the Emperor's light and into the Warp's darkness.

The Dark Angels followed suit, minutes after the psychic scream of the thing. Though apparently undecided for those minutes, they took the path to the Eye, taking the remains of their ancient world with them.

Most other Chapters had internal conflicts, but some were, luckily or unluckily, in scattered Companies when the event happened and some Companies decided in mass to defect, while others to stay true to the Emperor's light. There had been noted incidents with alarming regularity of entire Chapters to simply up and leave, or even individual Marines or groups of serfs, not deeming to answer to their brothers. To the later dismay of Imperial authorities, some were simply let go, their loyalist brothers either not seeing the threat for what it was or seeing it and deciding not to do anything more than hold the line themselves to the light of the Emperor and let the fallen leave quietly for their chosen darkness. It is said the Blood Ravens and Silver Skulls let or avoided entire companies from other Chapter to leave to the Eye when they had the opportunity to stop them, at the behest of their Librarians. No sanction had been made against any of these acts, for both fear of yet another rebellion, the need of warm bodies between the Imperium and the new/old Eye, as well as all the other enemies of man. There were also voices that considered this resonation through much of the Imperial forces to not do anything against their fallen brothers a direct message from the Emperor that may have saved countless Imperial lives. In normal times, these would be yelled at as heretical, but in this time of uncertainty, when one more weapon was stolen from Humanity and its Emperor, few things could still be denied.

Of course, many stayed true en mass as well. The Space Wolves, though dour and aggressive in battle, and didn't see the Emperor as a God, were also jovial and joyful in celebration, and it is assumed this saved them from the path of darkness. It is to be noted that although all of Dorn's legacy had fallen, all of Russ', with no exception, stayed loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium. Some of their serfs succumbed however and they were quickly taken care of by the joined forces of the mortals and Astartes alike. Most of the Blood Angels' legacy did the same, though there had been reports of at least a few Blood Angels up and leaving battlefields without warning, reason or indeed retaliation against their former brothers and heading to the newest Daemon World to join their new master. Serfs were put down, but worse, a full scale revolt erupted on Baal, and the Blood Angels were forced to require a _third _time help to their sister/child Chapters, which sparked even more tensions between them and brought harsh words from the mouth of the Flesh Tearer's Chapter Master. But in the end, they all recognized that Sanguinius' blood stayed true in the First Founding Chapter as there was as little defection from them as there was from the rest of the sister Chapters. It has been speculated that what almost condemned them to Khorne during the Horus Heresy actually saved them in this occasion: their mentality was incompatible with Grimdark and a lot more with Khorne, as demonstrated and taken to its extreme by the Flesh Tearers. Either Grimdark didn't want them, or they didn't want that Darkness to fill them, for their thirst was for blood, and apparently, Grimdark would have none of this.

A major blow however came from and to the Ultramarines, as it had half its strength, as well as half of each of its successor chapters, literally walk away to form a new host. They now call themselves the Strongmarines and left to find, populate and create a new Imperium in a world they decided even as they left to name Strongmar. Probably the worst was though, that Calgar led these "awakened" as it was recently termed into the Eye, though not before having words with Tigurius. Whatever had been said is a closely guarded secret of the Ultramarines, though it is suspected some daemons and possible all the new defecting Marines know too well, but whatever it was, it didn't lead them to blows and Tigurius let him go. At least Calgar agreed to leave Guilliman's body on Ultramar and has been loosly quoted as not having any interest in ever wanting to take it for himself or as a symbol of his new Legion. The Strongmarines are now feared to be on par with the strongest known Legion in the Eye, the Word Bearers, possibly numbering more than the former's assumed 60.000 strong.

Another notable defection was the entirety of Krieg, who, unlike their fellows, didn't leave their homeworld, but fortified it and soon conquered their entire system, making and keeping open trade routes with Old Cadia/The New Eye. Chaos Space Marines flocked to their worlds, either to help them or test their strength, but between the three forces, all Imperial attempts to dislodge this mini-Chaos Empire from their midst had failed, even with Astartes support or even Astartes leading the strikes. 

* * *

In the other part of the Galaxy, Abaddon was not gloating. Imperial reports arrived stating that Abaddon had left in a hurry after completing the ritual, taken his ship to the Planet Killer and then fled the oncoming darkness, as it appeared not to wish to assist him, but _devour _him. If there was one silver lining in this debacle, it was at least that the Arch-Enemy's general would not profit from his foolish act either.


	3. Chapter 3

The Warp was not a calm place most of the time. In fact, it hasn't known true peace since the Old Ones accidentally tainted it all those millions years ago. But now it stirred as it only did 10 thousand years ago by materium standard, though an infinity all by itself by Chaos' standards.

Grimdark woke to be, at least in the first second of his life, the most powerful God in the warp. Yes, it was an immense change, and this fed Tzeetch second only after Grimdark, as Slaanesh's birth had fed him oh so well. Third, it fed Khorne, for he did not care from whence the blood flowed, only that it did, and in truth, Grimdark did not feed on blood or violence, but on resolution. And then there were the losers. Slaanesh had already lost a quarter of his ten millennium struggle and was continuing to lose ground and color, his oh so beautiful color. The Emperor's Children - Gods he didn't know whether to hate that name or amuse himself more that he stole the Emperor's best and favorites - were the only ones truly driven out of their former lands and of Grimdark's ever expanding empire. Chrone worlds were absorbed into Grimdark's Eye, the suffering of the countless Eldar souls abruptly stopping, being replaced with the suffocating resolve of the new God. None knew yet what this would entail, but many of the lost and damned souls actually started _thanking_ and _worshiping_ him. He somehow answered in half-formed images and words that if they wanted to do so, they'd have to resolve themselves to his path and the path of literal darkness, not just metaphorical. To ignore pain and suffering, even their past if need be, and look into the future. Not for hope, not for their people, but for Him. Not even He was sure what he was doing, but he had seen enough of the Others' Empires to know he should at least build his own, and to learn from Slaanesh's mistakes and not try to take them all down, but consolidate what he had.

He felt a sort of happiness, if beings dubbed Ruinous Powers could feel that, of the resolve of those that decided to join him and consolidate his new realm with the fervor of zealots that only the Word Bearers and the Imperium could bring out of men and creatures.

And as the landscape started to change, so did loyalties. From lower Daemons to Daemon Princes, many flocked to this new domain of darkness, without fear that it would consume them. And the former mortals followed, as their superhuman brothers in the Imperium started the trend.

Mortarion and much of his Legion had been made to remember in the moment of the Corpse Emperor's lackeys' flight of their current status, how they were corrupted without their volition by a sadistic entity that claimed to love them, but did its best to break them. They realized they had only left one decaying False God to be brought to their knees of another, one possibly worse than the Emperor. They deserted their Papa in flocks, almost all but the most indoctrinated and "lovable" Death Guard rushing to their stalwart new God. There was someone who understood them, who understood the true meaning of steadfast, of why they had to leave the Imperium that was already in shambles, of how to consolidate their position, and Mortarion liked the association between his Grim Reaper image and the grimness and darkness of this new entity.

The Iron Warriors, normally unaffiliated with Chaos, also recognized the strong will of Grimdark and over half the Legion converted in worshiping him, some still reticent that he still may be a darker facet of the False Emperor, others refusing to side with their centuries-long former enemies, the Imperial Fists. Still, it was a great and high tally that Grimdark had reaped from a normally neutral faction.

The Word Bearers rejoiced in the birth of a new God, but were content with watching from the sidelines and continuing to worship Chaos Undivided, but some of the smarter and more gluttonous warlocks in the Legion were already making deals and learning new magics and techniques of pure darkness not minutes after the giant's birth.

Malal lost half his support exactly on this new God's birth, as those that worked for him without worshiping saw an opportunity to strike at the "old regime" and saw how Malal was so self-destructive that he'd drag them down with him, accomplished revenge and hate or not. Malal was furious, but had enough enemies as it was and now risked losing himself completely, almost being destroyed utterly as he came under the scrutiny of laughing brothers.

But the most surprising and unexpected addition to Grimdark's new realm was the one he had to actually work for, in a manner of speaking. He was old, and tired, and bitter, far different than the idealistic shapeshifting father's son and builder he used to be. Magnus stayed on his obsidian throne in his obsidian tower watching this new turn of events with an almost uncaring eye. He noticed that his master seemed nervous somehow, as though the strands of fate were going against his plans. Magnus looked lazily at the incoming darkness to his realm and stared impassively into it. The darkness made no provocation against him or his sons, and Magnus took it as a good sign. Grimdark did not talk to Magnus as humans would, but through images and memories of the former. He showed all of Magnus' follies, how he was duped, how he had tried to destroy the Space Wolves - or save them? or his Father's Imperium from them?(1) - not even Magnus knew even then, nor now, perhaps not even Tzeentch - , how he had run from fights his whole life, yet this new God still had hope for him. Now Magnus had matured, now he could see - hopefully - staying his ground and fighting for what he believed in was the best course of action. Grimdark proposed Magnus to join him along with his Planet of Sorcerers, and that he would pay a price, of course. His entombed sons by Ahriman would be released, while their unrelenting shells would be replicated so they'd always serve their former prisoners. In return, Magnus was to stay against any threat, and never back down from a fight unless the bigger picture demanded it. Magnus considered, sighing at the need to make another deal with a Daemon, - a construct, for the Great Ocean's sake! -, not even birthed like his sons from mother and father, but having been promised his lost sons' return with so little asked, he reluctantly agreed.

Other than these, Greater Daemons and Daemon Princes from all the other Gods came to him, mostly from Khorne who saw a good place to battle and advance now that their lord was if not descending, at least stagnating, and from Tzeentch, who saw the potential for change and risked their master's eier and loss of knowledge from him for the opportunity to change theirs and others' futures. But of course the Great Betrayer didn't hold that against them, even deciding to lend them a hand from time to time so they'd tangle the web of lies and madness oh so even more beautifully. Even some Daemons of Slaanesh tried to get in on the action, but were pointedly refused, on the grounds that they were really fickle things who cared not for standing against odds or tarnishing themselves, but for their looks first and that their ideals did not match with Grimdark's character. The few allies and spies he could have gained from Slaanesh's camp were thrown away through this, but of course, the new power did not care for that.

It had and would continue to acquire eldar, after all.

* * *

**Author's Notes**:

(1) I'm referring to the Battle of the Fang, where Magnus stopped a Space Wolves apothecary from removing the gene-curse that forced Space Wolves to stay close to Fenris less they get corrupted. The future the Apothecary had in mind though... was not well received by many in his Chapter and there were implications that if he had succeeded, the Space Wolves would've taken over the Imperium and made the worst fascist state we know as the Imperium today look the 21st century's best democracy. It is somewhat implied that Magnus destroying the cure probably saved the Imperium from something worse.

**Review answers:**

_Master of the Boot_: Thanks for the reviews and I'm glad you see almost exactly where I'm going with this.


	4. Chapter 4

Abaddon was running. He, the great Abaddon the Despoiler, commander of the Planet Destroyer, chosen of the Dark Gods, inheritor of the weaklings Horus and his corpse-daddy False Emperor, was fleeing from Cadia, which rightful should have been his. It wasn't like he wasn't the Gods' favorite anymore, at least of those that mattered, at least until now, although they obviously blamed him for this. Even with his relative failings, he had been obedient as he could without bending his knees to them, he had listened to them, enacted plans and crusades as they commanded, brought them victory only he and They knew. After all his struggle, all his sacrifices (in all senses of the word), when he was so close, it was almost tumbling around him. And the worst part was he was forced to run closer to the Eye's center, to that pink trollop's hidden world, which itself began to move out of their galaxy, dragging a few of its important worlds that it would not part from, with it.

Where had he gone wrong?

Maybe it was not consulting with the Gods when envisioning his ritual. It had seemed so sweetly ironic at the time, that he consulted only with lesser beings and only on the _how_, not on the _what happens after? _In fairness, he didn't care if it wouldn't exactly go to plan, he knew he could survive just about anything and worst case scenario, _something_ would swallow Cadia or at least a big chunk of it and he'd be free of a wretched world and its steadfast inhabitants. Oh, he hoped he'd birth a God, his ego had no doubt he could and would do it, but nothing rivaling the Four. After all, Gods came and went all the time, and they were just concepts anyway. The line between Gods and Daemons was sometimes blurred, the difference being that Gods were beings made from and for their own concepts, while Daemons usually answered to and were created by their greater patrons, the Gods. But Gods would sometimes fill the role and even take the name of Daemons and serve the Gods, while Daemons and even mortals would try to ascend to greater Daemonhood or even Godhood. It was basic knowledge of the warp, and he had hoped this new Godling would just take out of the equation many Space Marine chapters and especially bitter veterans where Chaos usually could not. Even better (and expected, wrongfully, again), turn them against the Imperium, sow even more Chaos into it to be ripe for the picking by Abaddon.

But Gods had a mind of their own, and he neglected to take this obvious note into consideration.

Where had he gone wrong?

He had been impatient with his plan, yes, but he didn't have to ask the Gods about _everything_ that he did, most things panned out and usually, when he had something that he considered of little importance that he didn't ask the Gods about, but that it meant more, he was advised. They came to him, warp it all, they should have seen this. They should have warned him.

Where had he gone wrong?

At first, it seemed to have worked better than expected. The darkness first engulfed Cadia, then spread in both directions. At the time, he didn't care if the Eye was swallowed up by more energy, and this was black, beautiful energy, like his Black Legion, not that gay pink of Slaanesh. Although not visible to the eye, he saw it spread through the Imperium, the echo of turning mortals and Astartes alike music to his ears. But something was wrong. Fortresses were made in seconds in the warp. The Gods yelled and screamed and screeched... _against_ this new creation. They even called it Anathema, although the golden light of the False God Emperor shone in his realm and didn't merge with this new entity. Where the beautiful red sea swelled up and down, the darkness formed an island that... didn't let it in? It didn't feed on the souls of the Great Anihilator, not on the suffering, not on the screaming. It looked sick by this display, for it wanted only the strong. But not like Khorne, it did not care if they used axes or magicks, only that they stood against the madness and it they didn't enjoy the killing. Didn't enjoy the screaming. Not that it didn't give them the _right_ to enjoy it, but it found it needless. As long as they did their duty for it, they could enjoy anything they wanted. As long as they stood steadfast when the enemy came, they could do anything after, to anyone but their allies. They should have allies, not _comrades._ Camaraderie was overrated and irrelevant, it thought. Duty mattered. Stopping the tide mattered. It didn't matter what tide. The Tyranids', the Necrons', the Warp's, the Imperium's, the Tau's. The tides of the enemy would break on their shoals.

Abaddon had been both repulsed and in awe of this mentality. On the one hand, it hardly fit the "Chaos standard". On the other, what "Chaos standard" could really exist? And more importantly, it had power. As static in a changing warp as it was, Abaddon was already rolling the possibilities in his head. He had already felt the existent turns and the future ones, and it was staggering. Amazing. Not since the Great Crusade, and lesser still than this, the repention crusade to the Eye of Terror, had Chaos such a boon of turncoats. Without the Imperial Fists, Holy Terra would be twice as easily to break, even with their defenses still in place. And _so much inside information_! Imperial Fists joined together in a great crusade with Iron Warriors! Magnus no longer brooding on his throne, but with his forces intact - almost doubled even - and grateful, _grateful, _to a power of Chaos! _Half the fucking Ultramarines come to make and consolidate a new chaos empire in the eye!_ Magnificent, truly magnificent. Most of the Dark Angels turned, the Lion waiting for revival and to work under the one true Warmaster. Cadians. Kriegans. Eldar warriors. Tau. All under one dark banner. And more, and more, so much more...

But something was wrong. The energy was not welcoming him, it was trying to _eat _him. To destroy him utterly, like the Corpse Emperor had destroyed the weakling Horus.

_Yes, destroy the weakling! Destroy the coward!_

Abaddon blinked. What?

Then he heard the other voices, those of his Gods, of the Greater Daemons that he could call as his closest companions. They were overwhelming now and sent shivers through his spine.

_Run, you fool! Run!_

Run?! From his hour of success? Surely they must be jesting. So this upstart wanted to defy their reign, as Slaanesh did. So what? What did it matter to him? What would it gain from his destruction? Surely any creature of Chaos should know that he fought for his own and for Chaos Undivided. If this new God even won, then so what? Chaos was still Chaos, whoever ruled it, as the Imperium was still the Imperium after the Emperor's Death, the Tau Empire the same after an Aun's death and so on. Surely generals were needed in any regime and would stay the same, even if the rulers changed?

His old Gods' voices had a matter of urgency, contempt and panic to them.

_Run, you fool! It doesn't care about your achievements! It cares about its own ideals and it thinks you broke them! You did the worst crime on it, you woke it up! You made it and now it comes for your blood! Did you not learn anything from the Eldars' folly? The God you make it not grateful to you, it always wants more. You have offended it by your mere existence and deeds of past that you are so proud. Run, you fool, you are still needed for us, but for it you are but the worst offense it could see. Run and continue to live for us! Not even Horus was worth for us to fight and keep the tide, but we will for you. Don't make our efforts wasted._

Between the warning, the goading, the insults, the prayers and even being acknowledged as Horus' better in the eyes of immortal creatures, Abaddon woke from his reverie. Abaddon was no fool. He saw the creature engulfing Cadia not to subdue it, but to give the Cadians better ground for fortification. To reward their valor. To reward the grimness of their lives. That was the primary reason at least. The secondary was to destroy Abaddon.

Abaddon ran, his Terminator protectors at his heels. He barely made it to the drop ship when the darkness engulfed the area he'd been running from. Claws of darkness were reaching for the ship and for his head, and he heard the voice of the new being answering his unasked questions.

_Why? Because you are weak. Because you are a coward. Because you have been running around doing Tzeentchian plots that lead nowhere instead of a full-head on attack on your enemies. Because you ran 13 times, Abaddon. _13 _of the _most_ important times, and I cannot even count the other less important ones you ran. Probably the most important one was leaving Terra itself. You could have took advantage of the Emperor's near-death and the confusion and the mourning and taken the Palace. You could have had it all, Abaddon. You dare throw that failure on Horus? Horus merely _died._ The weaklings and cowards _abandoned _him. But you? You yet lived, and you _ran._ You can't even be congratulated for keeping the Eye a domain of Chaos, for it is not through your deeds that the tide washes away from and into worlds. It is through the whim of your betters, and when Chaos worlds emerge from the Eye's storms, you do not even bother to fortify them. To deny them to your enemy, be it Imperial, Ork or other creature._

_You are not _my_ Champion, Abaddon. Despoiler. Weakling. Dog of the weak, the colored and the cowardly. Dog of the old, the decrepit, the status-quo worshipers._

_You are but a mutt to be put down._

And so Abaddon ran, to the bosom of those who still found him useful, to the worshipers who saw him a God among men. But beyond that, he felt something he had not felt in millennia, at least not this strong. A knot of fear, which he would have dismissed if it hadn't resonated from his patrons themselves, those who had rescued him, fought for him, maybe even risked their foothold for him. No, he corrected himself, only for themselves, for they knew they needed a Champion of their own of whose loyalty they could be certain of, now more than ever. Not against the Imperium, but against the abomination he had created.

And through all the evil laughs of his retinue on how he had created the doom of the Imperium, of how the Godling had bowed to him and Abaddon had left it to its own devices to bring the hammer of Chaos on the weaklings Imperium - he barely suppressed a flinch at the word - through the chanting of the Chaplains and cultists about the inevitability of everything falling to Abaddon's feet, through the silence of his Terminator retinue who knew these were all lies yet had still fought off Grimdark's influence and kept their loyalty to Abaddon (for how long? he wondered), one question repeated in his mind, never truly finding the answer he was looking for.

Where had he gone wrong?

Where had he gone wrong?

Where had he gone wrong?

Where...

* * *

**Author's Note**: I'm writing at this pace because I'm on a roll and I want to write it down while it's clear in my head.


End file.
